


Fifteen Minutes

by alabasterclouds



Series: My Two Gay Dads [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Amy loses her pacifier, Baby Amy, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Age Play, Obsessive Behavior, Papa Holt, Temper Tantrums, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabasterclouds/pseuds/alabasterclouds
Summary: Amy's out of sorts because her favourite pacifier is lost. Because no one knows she's little, she can't ask anyone to help her find it - except Captain Holt, who is well aware of his little girl's erratic moods and her penchant for losing her things. Established ageplay relationship that I'll flesh out in later fics.Hi! This is my first fic for this fandom. I primarily write ageplay - so there's a warning on this fic that if this isn't for you, please don't read it. Please read the tags and click at your own risk. For those that like ageplay, hi - I hope to write much more for B99!You can chat with me at http://www.tumblr.com/alabasterclouds if you like!





	Fifteen Minutes

Of course, she'd have to lose her pacifier on the most stressful day of the week so far.

Two murder cases, back to back, and three hours of gruelling questioning in the interview room, and then Amy'd been forced to look at photo after photo of the gory dead bodies (how DID someone kill someone else with a clothes hanger, anyway?). She was practically twitching - since she'd quit smoking, she was wholly dependent on her pacifiers in order to calm down. And her favourite one seemed nowhere to be found.

She always left it in exactly the same compartment in her drawer. The bottom left-hand side. She was left-handed, so it was easy enough to slip it into her pocket and walk out the door to the slightly windy alleyway and duck behind the brick pillar. Then she'd suck for five or ten minutes, her hand coming up to twirl the end of her hair, her eyes closing in relief. It wasn't as good as smoking . . . but it was a hell of a lot healthier, and anyway, she liked feeling safe, even just for a few moments.

But while she had other pacifiers, one in her purse, she wanted her favourite. It was yellow with a duck print. The nipple was shaped almost exactly to her mouth since she used it so much. And she was tired, too - she'd slept like shit the night before, and her pull-up had leaked since she'd had way too much to drink before bed, and no one had been there to change her and soothe her . . .

It was a mess. Amy's lips curved down into a pout, something that Rosa, sitting across from her, didn't miss.

"What's your issue today, Santiago?" Rosa was sitting with her legs sprawled out into the passage beside the desks, having caused Boyle to trip over her feet no fewer than three times that morning. "You're pouting like a little baby."

Well, she _was_ practically a baby, thought Amy ruefully. Not that anyone in the bullpen knew about that. Not that she had ever given any indication that she wore pull-ups daily under her pants, or needed her paci breaks, or sometimes fought tears at her desk after a really rough day . . . most cops were a little weird, anyway, and if anyone had seen anything, they'd probably brushed it off. Jake, though he stayed over at least twice a week, still didn't know that Amy wet the bed almost nightly. He usually passed out and she'd slip away and sleep on the couch in her diaper, then come back in the morning just before he woke up and snuggle with him then. He never woke up. He never knew.

No one ever knew.

Amy moved restlessly in her seat. "I'm fine, I'm just trying to get through these cases," she said, her voice holding a note of irritation. "You're bothering me."

"Oh, so sorry," snapped Rosa. "Why don't you stop pouting and crying like a toddler, then, so I can concentrate? Or better yet, move into the evidence room if you need to concentrate so badly."

"Why don't you just mind your own business?" Amy snapped back, sounding much harsher than she intended. She rifled through her drawers, her eyes filling up. "Shit. I can't find it," she muttered, and angrily blinked her tears away. Jake was out on a case, otherwise he would have noticed her getting agitated and suggested she ride along with him on his latest reconnaissance mission. Getting out into the fresh air tended to calm her down.

"Why don't _you_ watch your tone with me, hey?" Rosa stood up, then. Amy realized belatedly that picking a fight with Rosa was an unwise move. She never backed down from a fight, for one, and for two, she was always looking for a reason to escalate a situation. As Rosa's voice rose, so did Amy's, unbidden.

"Just leave me alone, Rosa!" Amy found herself rising to her feet, too. "None of this concerns you."

"Well, excuse me for trying to be _sympathetic_ , Santiago. Jesus. You're worse than ever lately, such a whiny little bitch -"

"Santiago. Diaz." A stern, deep voice cut through Rosa's tirade. "Just what in the hell is going on here right now in this bullpen?"

Amy turned slightly, her shoulders rising towards her ears. It was Captain Holt. Of course it was.

Rosa just raised her hands. "Nothing, Captain. Just doing some work here." She sat down and quietly studied her computer screen. Amy remained standing, her back still to the Captain. Oh, please let him see . . . 

"Santiago. A word, please. My office. Now."

Amy's stomach dropped, even as her heart lifted a bit. She slowly turned around, putting up a weak front. "It's nothing, Captain, we're fine."

"Santiago, I don't like to ask twice." Captain Holt, impeccable in his crisp white shirt and black dress pants, had a way of boring his dark eyes into yours in a manner that brooked no argument. He jerked his silver head toward his office door. "Let's go."

Amy hung her head, feeling everyone's eyes on her as she walked across the floor and joined Holt at his office door. He held it open for her, letting her go by him first. She brushed by, feeling his solid warmth as she did so, and then he quietly closed it behind her, drawing the blinds on the window and the door. Once he'd finished closing them, he turned to her.

"Amy. What's going on with you today? And moreover, what's been going on with you this week? It seems like every time you're in the office, you're picking a fight with someone. Diaz, Peralta, even Hitchcock the other day." He didn't break her gaze, but instead of going to sit at his desk, he veered to the side and uncharacteristically sat on the couch, albeit a little stiffly.

Amy opened her mouth to answer him, but found herself bursting into tears, instead. Typical. She never could keep it together around Holt.

Holt's impassive face softened the very slightest bit, virtually unnoticeable unless you knew him well, which Amy did. "Okay." He patted the seat on the couch beside him. "Why don't you come and tell me about it?"

Amy resisted the urge to collapse into his arms and instead strove for professionality. But she couldn't help flopping down on the couch beside him. His warm, solid presence was grounding, and the scent of his cologne oddly comforting. She sat beside him, just as stiffly as he was for a moment, then relaxed slightly against his chest. 

"I lost my paci." Her voice sounded very young, younger than she'd realized. "And I have hard cases. Two murders. One was really messy - a kid."

Holt made a comforting noise in the back of his throat - a rumbling sort of sigh. Amy was used to these sighs. She liked these sighs. It meant that he was listening to her. She leaned slightly against him, this time a little more insistently, and after a moment, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

"That sounds like a bit of a difficult day." 

"Mm-hmm." Amy stole a look up at him. He looked thoughtful, even as he held her against his chest. She squirmed a little.

"There's more."

"What's that?" He turned his dark gaze down into hers, and she looked away, a bit shyly. This time he gave her a hint of a smile, and gently turned her face back so that he could look at her. "Don't be shy, now."

"I'm wet." She moved uncomfortably. She'd been wet all morning, truth be told. But changing was so hard in the office - the bathrooms were always busy, and the disabled stall nearly always taken up by Gina, who used it as her own particular powder room. And she didn't always have the time. They were always on the go, from case to case, and Jake had commented that he sometimes didn't get to use the bathroom for hours. 

Regardless, though, Amy felt silly. She knew better than to sit in wet pants like this, and she knew that Holt would probably find it not only out of character, but also pretty disgusting.

But Captain Holt didn't look surprised, or even disgusted. He simply raised a massive hand and brushed a few strands of hair out of Amy's eyes. "Well, no wonder you were out of sorts, then." He waited a beat, while Amy fought the urge to bury her face in his shirt, and then gave her that hint of a smile again. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"You were busy," mumbled Amy. "And I lost my paci." Now her voice was starting to shake again. "And I thought if I could find it, I could deal with it myself, and I wouldn't have to ask you . . . you had the Commissioner in here all morning and I can be a big girl, sometimes . . ." A few tears slipped down her cheeks. "But Papa, it just didn't get easier and I think it's gone forever, and ..." Amy felt her throat close up and a sob fight its way through. "And I don't want to look at dead bodies today. Or be a cop. I just want you."

Holt made one of his rumbling, comforting noises again, and this time, he lifted Amy onto his lap, letting her rest her cheek on his impeccable shoulder. He patted her back a few times, and then rubbed it soothingly. "Well, if you're wet, we'd better remedy that." He met her eyes. "Can I check?"

Amy didn't want him to, not really. But she knew she was going to get a rash, and she felt yucky and soggy, so she nodded, avoiding his eyes. He nodded back, then gently patted her bottom. "Mm-hmm. Well, I've got your supplies in the cabinet over there. Can you go and get them for me?" His voice was gentle, and Amy felt soothed, now that he was taking charge.

She hopped off his lap and got a clean pull-up and the wipes out from the cabinet behind his desk, which he kept locked most of the time. He rose from the couch as she did so and locked his office door, then nodded to the couch, and Amy lay down obediently.

The first few times they'd done this, she'd been unable to even look at him, or anything else. She'd covered her eyes and he'd cleaned her, all without a word. But today, she found herself studying his face. He was always very careful and gentle, but the look of concentration in his eyes was what she found interesting. It was if nothing else mattered in the world - just her comfort. He was wholly focused on her.

Amy liked that.

"These garments aren't quite doing the job for how much you seem to need them," he mused. "We might need to get you something a little bit more protective, especially if you're going to wait."

"I didn't mean to wait so long," Amy mumbled, her face reddening in the half-light from the window. He rubbed her tummy, then, with one of his big, warm hands, and she turned back to look at him.

"It's all right, princess. It's not a condemnation. I just want you to be comfortable."

His warm, articulate voice was soothing. She caught his hand on her tummy for a moment, and he gave her a real smile this time. It still surprised Amy to no end that he was so willing to care for her this way, with no judgement whatsoever.

After she was diapered and clean, he squirted hand sanitizer on his hands and she scrambled to button up her grey dress pants. He tied the bag with her wet diaper and wipes in it, and placed it by his briefcase, to take out later, when he went for lunch. He was always meticulous about her privacy, and she appreciated it.

"Now," he said, coming back to sit beside her on the couch. "That other problem. You've lost your pacifier?"

Amy nodded, all the needy feelings she had washing over her like a wave. "I can't _find_ it, I should have left it in my drawer, but I don't know where it is, and I don't remember taking it home from the office, I wouldn't do that anyway, I keep it here specifically for that reason, and Papa, I need it, I had such a bad morning, and -"

"Okay." Holt raised a hand to stop her in mid-flow, and she let out an exasperated, teary little sigh, and leaned against him again. He reached for a Kleenex and mopped her face for her, his own expression thoughtful.

"Well, you don't have to worry about it being at home. I think I've actually got it here," he said. "I picked up a yellow pacifier the other day and placed it in my office drawer for safekeeping." He reached into his office drawer and pulled out her duckie pacifier. "Is this it?"

Amy's face lit up. "Yes! You found it!" she squealed, and he let out a chuckle.

"There's a lesson to be learned here about keeping track of your things, especially if you don't want anyone else to know about them," he chided her, but she'd already popped the paci in her mouth and was sucking in happy relief. Amy batted her long-lashed eyes at him, hoping he would smile at her, and he lifted her onto his lap again, letting her settle against his shoulder.

"I guess we can save that lecture for another time." Amy heard his voice rumble soothingly from inside his chest, and she sighed happily, letting him cuddle her.

She felt her eyes closing as he picked up one of Boyle's case reports and skimmed it while he held her. He was always multi-tasking. But fifteen minutes without doing any work wouldn't matter, right? No one would miss her for fifteen more minutes.

Amy looked up as Holt stroked her hair to get her attention. "You can't go to sleep, princess. I have a meeting in about twenty-five minutes. And we're at work," he reminded her.

"I know. But fifteen minutes won't matter, right?" She just needed him.

"Fifteen minutes. And then I want you to go and get some lunch." He rubbed her back absentmindedly as she sucked rhythmically, and Amy finally felt like she could relax.

He could always turn her day around - even if it was just in fifteen minutes.


End file.
